I don’t know who first said: “Would you like to super size that?” But if I knew and had the opportunity, I would gladly drop him into a fast food deep fryer to fry until his smarmy ass bubbled and floated. There is little that is more annoying than perusing a menu, making your choices and then having some one try to switch you to something else. Further, it is damned rude! It’s like having a holy-roller show up at your door on Saturday morning when you have a banging hang over, who then tries to sell you Jesus and Armageddon. It is the public equivalent of the uninvited call during dinner from a boiler room that tries to sell you extended automobile warranties or other garbage. I am on the national do-not-call list, and if there were a national do-not-ask-me-rude-and-stupid-questions list, I would be the first to sign up.
Of course the absolute worst for this annoying and really rude practice is the local movie theater. I was there a couple of nights ago and before I got within hailing distance of the concession counter, the high school munchkin behind the counter started.
Would you like to buy some of our Twizzler candies today?
Now there is absolutely nothing about my physical persona that would lead even the most dimwitted person in the universe to think I might be interested in Twizzler candy—whatever the hell that is.
No thank you I would like to have a small diet coke, a small popcorn and a box of Goobers.
Would you like to make that a huge coke for an extra dollar.
No. Thank you.
Would you like to make that a bushel basket of popcorn for an extra fifteen dollars
No. Thank you.
Would you like to super duper size your Goobers for an extra fifty dollars?
No. Thank you.
Would you like some nachos or other candies or anything else?
Perhaps aside from having my Goobers super sized, I was surely not interested. The answer was still no.
And then I said. Do you know how annoying it is to have to play this game of twenty questions to buy something to munch on?
At that point it dawned on her that because she was so busy trying to switch me to something that I didn’t want, she had failed to collect the money from her last customer. She turned to find another munchkin not much older than she, hovering in the background (his name tag says Adm Ass—Administrative Assistant? Perhaps Admiral Ass) and reported her screw up. Admiral Ass sends her off to chase down the woman and the conversation starts over.
Admiral Ass says: Would you like to buy some of our Twizzler candies today?
Now Admiral Ass has heard the previous conversation and in spite of the fact that I am annoyed and have so stated Admiral Ass continues:
Would you like to make that a large for an extra dollar.
I Point to my white beard, and I say to Admiral Ass: Look at this white beard. Don’t you think that by now I know what I want?
Admiral Ass could clearly not give a damn. Admiral Ass has his little marching orders and like all good little mindless Nazis, he is going to repeat this litany no matter how badly how much it pisses me off and even if hair lips the Pope.
The question I have is: At what point did the American public become such a mass of sheeple that we put up with this outrageous behavior? It is irritating, annoying and when repeated in the space of five minutes damned infuriating. What happened to customer service? What happened to Customer satisfaction?
Well happily there is a solution and I want this to spread like a prairie wildfire across this great land. When asked one of these idiotic questions, be prepared with a long list of counter questions. After all, they started the conversation. They can hardly object.
When they say: Would you like to super size that?
You say: Do you have a hearing impairment?
Do I have a speech impediment?
Did you understand me when I ordered? Not too much ambient noise? Not too much distraction?
Then why on earth would you ask me if I wanted something other than what I ordered? At this point they can say, well the manager makes us do this and you can ask for s/he to get the manager and you can run your game on him. Usually management is so chicken shit the munchkins have been instructed to simply say “It’s Policy.” That is one of those conversation ending declarations which avows: policy was handed down from the mount on long rolls of toilette paper written in shorthand with a number 2 pencil. Well, it ain’t so. This policy was concocted by some weenie sucking frat rat who was told by some dweeb consultant that they might squeeze another nickel out of the public by running this bait switch game.
Meanwhile, of course, as you hold up the line, everyone behind you is becoming irritated with you—not the sleazy management but you! Go figure.
However, if enough of us had the cajones to do this, then super sizing will go the way of the crew cut and McCarthyism. As a nation, we will have many fewer obese people and we will all be a helleva lot happier. Then, too, if you don’t want to play the twenty questions game, you can simply say you’ve changed my mind. Or you can just avoid the rudeness and hassle by ordering nothing at all or by Never Going There Again!
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Never vote for an incumbent.